


Sidequests and Excursions

by stopmopingstarthoping



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-26 15:01:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 11,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15003392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping
Summary: Collection of my FFXV Tumblr drabbles. Pairings, ratings, and any warnings noted in the summary for each chapter.





	1. Darkness, My Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for a specific character or pairing, here's a TOC that I'll update periodically.  
> 1\. Ignis, G  
> 2\. Nyx, G  
> 3\. Nyx & Aranea, T  
> 4\. Prompto & Gladio & Ignis, G  
> 5\. Promptio, G  
> 6\. Ignyx, T  
> 7\. Promptis, T  
> 8\. Promnis, E  
> 9\. Ardyn, G  
> 10\. Gladnis, G  
> 11\. Promnea, T  
> 12\. Gladnis, G  
> 13\. Promptio, G  
> 14\. Ignis, G (canon-compliant injury)  
> 15\. Promnea, G  
> 16\. Promnis, G (panic attacks)  
> 17\. Ignyx, T  
> 18\. Naven and Laney (Aranea's parents), G  
> 19\. Tredd/Crowe and hints of Crownyx, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the World of Ruin, Ignis learns to cope with his blindness. Inspired by The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel.  
> Rating: G. No pairing; no warnings apply. Mild angst and reference to canon-compliant injury.

_Nine steps to the bathroom. Sink to the left, toilet to the right._

Ignis no longer had to resist the urge to reach for the light switch. That habit had faded, with time. He mused about all the unused light bulbs in the house, and made a mental note to redistribute them where they could be useful.

_Soap, right side of the counter._

He pushed down on the top of the dispenser, felt the gooey slipperiness of the soap, smelled the sylleblossom scent Iris had thoughtfully chosen for him. Turned each tap a quarter turn to the left. Lathered, rinsed. Turned both taps to the right.

_Towel, on the wall to the left._

_Down the stairs, turn right. Six steps. Turn right again. Four steps. Coffee pot to the left, stove and refrigerator to the right._

_Reach up. Coffee bags on the middle shelf. Grinder just below, on the counter._

He scooped beans into the grinder eight times, running a finger across the top of each scoop to ensure it was level. He found the cap, clicked it into place, and pressed the button. The smell of ground coffee wafted, and Ignis breathed in. He hated to admit it, but this routine had become soothing in the constant darkness.

Oh, he still resented it.

He filled the coffee pot with water and scowled when it splashed as he poured it. Deft fingers precisely folded and unfolded the filter, and he dumped the grounds in, pressed the button.

_Full turn, two steps, refrigerator. Eggs, top left shelf. Two steps to the left. Pan, lower right. Salt, pepper. Right side next to the stove._

He turned the knob, heard the click and whoosh of the burner.

People would talk about the constant darkness of Eos often. Sometimes they would comment on it to him, and he would wait for the awkward pause, the trail off as they inevitably looked at his scars, his glasses. The occasional stammered apology.

 _Yes, darkness._ He still knew what a false smile felt like on his lips.

_Top drawer, right side forks, left side spatula. Spoons, along the bottom._

Sometimes he made it a joke, to put them at ease. Sometimes he didn’t. He didn’t have to see their discomfort anyway.

_Knife block on the counter, two o'clock from the silverware drawer._

His fingers trailed over that one absently.  _Not yet._ He’d hated the fact that Gladio was right about that more than he’d hated feeling scolded.

* * *

The minor flickers of nothing came in lighter and darker tones, as though someone were turning a camp lantern up and down, but without the rushing sound of the propane. Just enough to be annoying; not sufficient to be helpful.

The stupid quips about heightened hearing grew old before the first one was uttered. It was easy to pay attention to sounds, to notice small details, to hear people lie, when there was little else to pay attention to.

Never truly dark, and never truly silent.

* * *

_Midnight; three a.m.; five a.m._ During these times of wakefulness, Ignis no longer cared to press the button on his phone that would announce the time. It was sometime between retiring and rising; sometime when he should be sleeping; sometime to continue the punishment he supposed he’d accepted. When the only things he ever truly saw anymore flashed in tones of blue and tore at his heart.

It was always nine steps down the hall. To splash water on his face and remember how it felt to look in the mirror. To grip the sides of the sink and try to will his mind down an alternate path. To hate himself for the trembling, until it subsided.  

 _Nine steps back to bed._ There was a despicable sort of comfort in it.

Ignis used to pray. To Titan for strength, to Shiva for grace. But since the Astrals had turned their backs on everything he held dear, he no longer prayed.

He just waited.


	2. Fairy Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx and Gladio have a night off and take in some casual night life; Iris brings back some memories for Nyx.  
> Rating: G. No pairing; no warnings apply.

****They strode through the night at an easy pace, enjoying their quiet companionship. Nyx had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Gladio’s arms swung freely, occasionally pointing out a good stopping place. It was good to have a night off, and this seasonal street fair was a great excuse to wander the city and sample food and drink. They’d each had a drink and a couple of bites from the food stalls already, but were happy to linger and take it slow, a nice contrast from the rigors of training. The strings of lights hung here and there lent a casual, festive air to the night, and Nyx felt younger and lighter than he had in a long time.

 They heard skittering footsteps behind them and a breathless, “Hey!” They turned to see a lanky brunette waving furiously, darting through an alley to catch up to them. They stopped as she approached, Gladio chuckling fondly at her turbulent approach.  

She saw Nyx as she came to a halt. “Oh, hi. I didn’t know Gladdy was with a friend.”

“You must be Iris.” Her smile was infectious, and Nyx caught it easily. She stuck out her hand in greeting, and he took it, with a hint of surprise at her grip compared to her frame. She was quite obviously his sister. The expressive, amber eyes, and those brown waves that somehow stayed just this side of messy - yep. And she was doing that thing with her arms. He’d seen Gladio do that just a couple of weeks ago. He had persuaded the group they trained with to go camping in the Myrlwood instead of clubbing in Lestallum as a weekend road trip.  The camping had been gorgeous, as Nyx recalled.  

Never let it be said that an Amicitia didn’t know how to pout effectively. Iris was currently displaying that it was definitely a family trait. “Gladdy, I know it’s late, but Dad said if I found you I could stay out. If you are? Please? Can I? It’s so fun at night.”

Nyx watched them for a moment; the way he beamed down at her, the way she clasped her hands together, wheedling. Gladio teased Iris for a moment before saying yes, and she punched him on the arm. He rubbed the spot and playfully scowled at her. Nyx tipped his head down, looked away, and swallowed. He focused intently on the detailed lettering of a sign in a shop window, though he didn’t know what words were written on it any more after studying it than he had before. He was startled by Gladio’s deep rumble.

“You coming, Nyx?”

Nyx cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows, turning quickly. “Yeah – yeah.”

They continued to wander along, Iris bouncing happily alongside. Nyx dropped back a bit and looked up at the tiny lights, which blurred out of focus a little bit. He sighed, and followed, putting his hands back in his pockets and whistling a tune he thought he’d forgotten.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day of Nyx Ulric Week 2018 (Close to the Heart: dedicated to those closest to Nyx; little sisters).


	3. A Familiar Type of Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Nyx serves as a mentor to a younger cadet in military school. Swagger abounds.  
> Rating: T. No pairing; no warnings apply. Mild violence to a garula.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also part of the Lucis Military Academy universe, but before Crowe's time.

First-years, man. There was always at least one. As he looked around the small group and noticed one missing, he chuckled to himself and shook his head. He could have predicted which one it would be, too. Plebes. **  
**

This weekend was supposed to be low-risk fun, a way for new cadets to feel like part of a team.  And yet, there was always that one asshole who had to strike out on his own, trying to have bigger balls than everyone else.

 _Her_ own, in this particular case. A quick nod from his co-captain and Nyx was off in a cerulean flash. It still made his breath catch a bit, even after two years of training. He heard them before he saw them, a fierce yell overpowered by the animal’s loud bellow. Good timing, too.  She was just about to get herself in more trouble than she could handle alone.

He shoved one of his kukris into thick hide and pulled, tore, and yanked it out again.  As the garula fell, he wiped the blade off on the grass, flipped it, caught it, and turned with a grin to the younger woman scowling at him from behind the slain beast, hands on her hips.

“You arrogant son of a bitch.” She glared at him, shoving hair out of her face.

He laughed, dimples deepening as she pushed past him. “That’s definitely not the first time I’ve heard that. You know you’re not supposed to be out here by yourself anyway.”

“I don’t need saving and I don’t need a damn hero.”  She turned away from him and snatched up her damaged weapon.

“Your lance is broken and you had a garula halfway up your ass. Seems like you needed  _something_.”

Her exasperated huff made him smile again. He bent close to her ear and spoke quietly. “Next time, pay attention when they tell you to partner up. And don’t be so damn stubborn. I’m sure you’ll find it in your heart someday to save some poor asshole who got in way over their head.”  

She shook off the hand he slung over her shoulder, but a grin threatened at the corners of her own mouth. “Guess I owe you one. But you’re still a show-off.”

He shrugged as she stormed past him, then called ahead. “Hey, Highwind.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she stopped and turned, with resignation, expecting a scolding, or some kind of punishment.  “What?”

“Buy me a drink at the ‘Bones, and call it even?”

She rolled her eyes, but stopped stalking back to camp long enough to let him catch up. “Fine. One drink. I thought you were gonna order me to scrub out your toilet with a toothbrush or something, so that doesn’t sound so bad by comparison.”

“You flatter me. Now that you mention it, though, it could use some polishing…”

She shoved his shoulder, hard, and he cackled. Eyes downcast, she couldn’t help joining him just a little, and by the time she was back at camp with the others, she’d managed a sheepish grin.

Nyx’s co-captain cleared her throat, ready to make an example of the wayward cadet, but Nyx just looked at her and held up his hand. “It’s cool, I took care of it in the field. We’re good.”

Aranea pressed her lips together and grudgingly shot him a look of gratitude. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Nyx Ulric Week 2018 Day 3 (Halcyon Days: days of past; Nyx before the Kingsglaive; hero in the making; young coeurl; “Show off!”).


	4. Getting By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the ten years of the World of Ruin, Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis lean on each other.  
> Rating: G. No pairing; no warnings apply. Very mild violence.

The rain started as soon as Prompto left the apartment. He sighed, and shrank into the neck of his jacket the best he could. The denim collar offered little protection, though, and he soon resigned himself to just getting soaked.

He arrived at the bar just as they were opening; the sickly-sweet smell of old alcohol mixed with the lemony scent of soap, and the disco ball was still as much at odds with the hunting simulators and dart boards as he remembered from last night.

He sheepishly headed to the counter and handed over his ID, mumbling, “I left my card last night.”

The bartender’s brusque glance flicked over his blackened eye and red, puffy nose, and she clicked her tongue. “Yeah, I remember you. You try that shit again in here and you’re not coming back.” She propped her mop against the bar and flicked through a box, selecting a plastic card and handing it to him.

He gave a half-smile and shrugged in apology, accepting his card and tucking it in his pocket. "Yeah. Thanks - sorry.”

Her gaze softened a little. “Still, he had it coming. Yer a scrappy little motherfucker. Just take it outside next time, okay?” She jerked her chin toward the door and continued mopping.

Another crooked grin cracked Prompto’s face, and he waved and got himself out of there, back to the slap of wet boots on damp pavement.

Hands jammed in pockets, water collecting in rivulets at the back of his neck, Prompto recalled what he could of the previous evening.

"He said Noct was gone, and he wouldn’t shut up about it.” By the time Gladio and Ignis had shown up, Prompto had been holding a flimsy drink napkin to his dripping nose, glaring at an unconscious man and the defiant friend holding onto him.

“Said that he’d abandoned all of us, or gotten himself killed. That he wasn’t coming back - ever.” The angry depth of his voice had cracked on the last word, and Prompto had felt even more juvenile. At that, Gladio’s stance had shifted toward the man and his friends, and they muttered denials and retreated. Ignis was slightly more collected, yet the smooth, murderous gaze he’d shot them had prompted the man’s friends to sling his arm over a shoulder and drag him out the door, looking back nervously.

The three of them had gone home together, Gladio’s fierce hug a contrast to Ignis’ light fingers on Prompto’s scalp, but both felt like comfort.

Gladio had offered a sympathetic grunt as Ignis’ gentle hands washed the blood from under Prompto’s nose; a squeeze of a large hand as a stern gaze assessed the damage to his cheekbone; affectionate speculation on the likelihood of a shiner the next day. More hugs, then, and some tears, and Prompto’s memory diffused into clean sheets and warm closeness and sleep.

They’d been gone in the morning; there was always more to do, more people who needed help. But Prompto had found little signposts of their care all around the apartment when he’d finally woken, groaning and clutching his head. A freshly laundered towel from Ignis had been folded neatly, hanging in the bathroom. Prompto had washed the nasty bar smell off his skin, soaped the dried blood from his knuckles. The towel hadn’t quite been warm anymore, but it had smelled good, like lavender, and Prompto had enjoyed the scrub of it on his face as he dried off.

Gladio’s patented hangover shake had been chilling in the fridge.  Prompto had sipped it slowly, letting it settle in his complaining stomach. It had soothed; as had the texts he’d gotten from both Gladio and Ignis checking on him. He’d smiled, responded with his usual quota of chirpy emojis, and gotten dressed, then prepared himself for the somewhat embarrassing return trip to the bar.

Shaking his head like a dog, Prompto let himself back into the apartment, where he toweled off and changed into dry clothes. The rain continued to fall outside, and Prompto put on a pot of coffee, anticipating their return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @ninemoons-lestallumhaven42 on Tumblr for the prompts "Prompto" and "rain."


	5. Hiccups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto has the hiccups, and Gladio tricks him.  
> Rating: G. Pairing: Promptio (Gladio/Prompto). Sweet fluffy kisses. No warnings apply.

Ignis is outside banking the fire, and Noctis is already asleep. The air is cool and damp even inside the protection of the tent, and Gladio settles into his sleeping bag with one hand under his head. He closes his eyes and breathes out, happy to be at rest after a long day. The evening sounds of wind and insects are familiar and calm, and -

 _Hic_.

Gladio’s eyebrows furrow, but he just turns over and smiles a little. He’s drifting, the fights of the day merging and fuzzing into dreams -

 _Hic_.

Gladio opens his eyes then, and his grin gets bigger when his eyes adjust enough to see Prompto. He’s sitting up with a hand over his mouth, and though he can’t see it in the dim light, Gladio knows Prompto’s blushing by the expression he’s wearing.

 _Hic_.

Even behind the hand, it’s loud, and Prompto moves his hand and a stage whisper emerges. “Sorry!” Noctis grunts and shifts, but they both know he’s far from awake.

Gladio sits up too, and chuckles quietly. He scoots over and whispers as quietly as he can, “I know a good cure for the hiccups.”

“You - hic - you do?” Prompto looks at him, features softened by the twilight, and Gladio almost feels a little guilty for bullshitting him.

Not guilty enough, though. Prompto’s gaze flicks up to him, and Gladio swallows his nerves and touches his lips softly to Prompto’s.

This kiss is supposed to be a remedy, but Gladio goes ahead and runs his fingers along Prompto’s blond strands; they’re softer than he imagined. After a moment of shyness, Prompto’s lips press eagerly into Gladio’s own. They’re just as soft as he imagined, and his eyes close as he savors it.

When Prompto hiccups into the kiss, they both smile, but they don’t pull away. After a moment, Prompto sits back. He’s a little breathless, and after a moment, he hiccups again.

“That’s, uh - that’s not really a cure for the hiccups, is it?” He tilts his head, fiddling a little nervously with his wristband. Dark lashes sweep down against freckled cheeks, making Gladio not really care at all that he’s been found out.

“No?” Gladio shrugs a little. “But it seemed like a good excuse.” He grins, because he’s close enough to see that Prompto is definitely blushing now.

Gladio’s honesty earns him another kiss, and  they settle back down to sleep.

 _Hic_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @Xylianna on Tumblr in response to a request for Promptio fluff.


	6. Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis is late for a meeting.  
> Rating: T, IgNyx (Ignis/Nyx), no warnings apply.

Ignis’ eyes flew open, and he knew immediately that something was wrong. Not the fingers pleasantly stroking up and down the length of his thigh, or the scrape of bearded scruff nuzzling his neck. No, those things were definitely  _right_. **  
**

It was the sky, he realized as he looked out the window. It was far, far too light, and the pieces snapped together.

“Late.” He sat straight up, drawing a whine from Nyx’s huddled form next to him. He immediately slung long legs over the side of the bed and stood up to collect the strewn pieces of his clothing from the floor and the chair, and - what had even happened to half of them, anyway?

Nyx rubbed his eyes. “What?”

“I’m late. Early meeting at the Citadel.”  Ignis hopped, trying to pull up a sock and pick up his shirt at the same time. “Security council.”

“Wait - what day is it?”

“Wednesday, why?” Ignis peered up from under the vest he was shucking on.

“Shit. I’m on guard duty for that and I totally forgot.” Nyx’s palm struck the wadded sheets.

I’m too old for this schedule fumbling shit. You’re a bad influence, Scientia.”

“Yes.” Ignis’ lips curved in a secretive, sly smile.

Still refusing to rouse from the warmth and comfort of the bed, Nyx stared at the ceiling, thinking, and blue eyes slid over to Ignis. “We can take my bike - that’ll shave a few minutes off. I can probably still get us there on time - oh, not fair.” Nyx had started to sit up, but he groaned and flopped back as Ignis propped a foot on the bed and deftly attached a garter to a sock.

“What?” Ignis widened his eyes, the picture of innocence.

“You  _know_ what. That’s a personal attack.” Nyx’s gaze lingered on the length of the leg bent at eye level. He reached out to touch it and Ignis whisked it away neatly.

“And you, a trained Glaive, with no counter. Pity.”

Nyx smoothly launched himself out of bed and captured Ignis’ lips in a firm kiss, making Ignis press back for more. The Council temporarily forgotten (again), hands gripped into hair, mouths opened, and eyes closed. Nyx carried the intensity of the previous night on his tongue, which Ignis met eagerly.

A few more breathless moments, a nip at a lower lip, a groan that there was not more time, and Ignis collected himself, clearing his throat. “I am not showing up to a Council meeting on the back of your motorcycle.” He straightened his collar with deft fingers and pulled his tie taut behind his neck before crossing one end over the other.

A cocky eyebrow poked up in response. “Why not? Too concerned about jealous backstabbers?”

Ignis laughed. “No, though I’m sure several of them would be quite jealous.” Ignis broke eye contact with the mirror for a moment as he finished the knot, and bent to wrap long fingers around Nyx’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss. It was light, but lingering, a teasing tongue flicking at Nyx’s lips.

Ignis returned to the mirror, sliding on his glasses and making the best of what had happened to his hair. Showering and then sleeping on it last night had created quite the interesting situation. “It’s simply not appropriate. We work together. Rolling up, making it obvious we’ve spent the night - it’s not proper.”

“I’ll just say I picked you up at your place to give you a ride.” Nyx tried to keep a straight face but grinned at his own pun.

Ignis was firm, despite the nearly imperceptible bend to the corners of his mouth. “No.”

Nyx wheedled. “At least let me drop you off a block or two away. I feel bad that you’re late.”

“You have precisely nothing to feel bad about after last night.” A stern glance accompanied Ignis’ statement, and Nyx cackled as he put on his pants. “That sounds perfect, thank you,” said Ignis. As did the prospect of sitting behind Nyx and holding him closely as he wove through traffic, Ignis thought, but Nyx knew that. At least the inevitable helmet head might prove useful.

“Fine, fine.” Nyx slung his coat on as Ignis finished pulling on his gloves. “You ready?”

Ignis nodded briskly, already in work mode. He tried to avoid thinking about how comfortable and natural it felt to be heading out together in the morning, or how it might be enjoyable to do so on a more regular basis. He followed Nyx toward the door, tingling at the hand that pressed lightly to his back as he passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @thelegendarynoctgar on Tumblr in response to a prompt for Ignyx and "early morning."


	7. and maybe sometimes they answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and Noctis, a thunderstorm.  
> Rating: T, Promptis, no warnings apply.

A sudden, sharp crack cut through the rain that had been pouring down outside in even sheets. Inside, the lights, television, and game cut out with a pop. Noctis and Prompto both jumped, then settled, laughing a little. 

Prompto set his controller down on the floor and leaned back, looking out the window at the jagged, glowing lines in the sky. He studied the clouds for a moment, noticing that Noctis still hadn’t really calmed next to him, but not wanting to call attention to it just yet. 

Another rumble, and then a closer, louder bang, and Noctis hunched himself back into a corner of the couch, knees up. “Maybe we should just go to sleep - the power’s out anyway,” he mumbled. 

“Noct, it’s only nine-thirty. I don’t even think I could sleep yet.” Noctis was clearly still on edge, and Prompto gave in to the impulse to scoot closer to him. He rested his head on the front of Noctis’ shoulder, and took advantage of the dark, nuzzling in just a little.  Prompto was rewarded with absent fingers in his hair and a brief exhale.

“You know, I used to be really scared of thunderstorms when I was younger.” Prompto’s tone was tentative and higher than normal. Noctis made a sound of acknowledgement that wasn’t much more than a grunt, and Prompto was nervous that he was doing the opposite of helping, but he was in it now, so he took a breath and continued on with his story.

“I used to hide in the closets and stuff.” Prompto left out that he’d usually been alone in the house, but he figured Noctis would maybe figure that part out on his own, if he was really listening. “One night I got mad that they always had me so scared, you know? And I ran outside in the pouring rain, yelling at Ramuh to leave me alone.”

Noctis let out a single, quiet laugh at that, and his palm smoothed against Prompto’s hair. “I’m not surprised.”

“I was like, eight. It was so dorky. Shook my little fist at the sky and everything. 

But - I guess it helped? Ever since then I’ve really enjoyed having a window or a door or something open when it storms like this. The cool air is - it’s nice, and, I really love the way it feels. You wanna try it?”

Noctis shrugged. “I dunno. Won’t that let a lot of water in?” 

Prompto could feel that Noctis was reluctant, but the trepidation was gone, so he pressed. “Nah, we can just prop the door open and watch through the screen door. Come on, it’ll be fun. The sky looks super neat.” He grabbed the blanket from the couch, stood up, and tugged at Noctis’ hand.

Noctis stood up with a sigh and let Prompto lead him to the doorway. The air was indeed cool, and damp. They curled up together on the floor just behind the screen door, and Prompto wrapped the blanket around both of their shoulders, this time drawing Noctis into the curve of his arm. The occasional tiny droplet flicked through the screen, wetting the thin blanket or dancing lightly on skin.

Lightning cracked the sky again, and Prompto looked over at midnight-blue eyes lit by the sudden flash. He really, really wanted to get out his camera, but he knew he'd never be able to accurately capture this, so he just watched Noctis watch the sky, and breathed in the scent of rain.

That cobalt gaze turned toward him, just a couple of shades lighter than the sky above them, and Prompto's own eyes closed as Noctis leaned closer. Their mouths met in a familiar, affectionate dance. The storm swirled around them, but they were the calm center:  soft lips, gentle tongues, unhurried certainty. 

Noctis pulled away, slowly, and laid his forehead against Prompto's. 

“Thanks.”

Prompto grinned widely in response to Noct's small smile. Prompto pulled the blanket around both of them, and stayed that way until Noctis fell asleep on his shoulder - and for a while after, too. Prompto sent up silent thanks to Ramuh, or whoever was responsible for this place he found himself in tonight, and settled down to see the rain retreat.  


	8. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promnis (Prompto/Ignis), E. Fluffy smut with a touch of feelings, because I can't resist.

A light breeze whispers through the tall grass, and Prompto sits, looking over the sun-grazed landscape.  It’s beautiful, the light is perfect, and he reaches for his camera.  Fingers wrap around his wrist instead, though, and graceful brows rise above silver frames in a wordless question.

Prompto smiles affectionately and moves closer, feeling Ignis’ fingers trace over his cheek. Prompto closes his eyes to feel light kisses on his skin, innocent except for their path toward his neck, and down from there. Kisses that he returns, willingly, blissfully.

“What about - the others?” Shameless; Prompto is already a little out of breath - already answering Ignis’ wordless question with a  _yes, of course, yes, please_.

“Fishing,” comes the muffled response from his neck. Gloved hands are under his shirt, and the feel of the exposed skin on the pad of Ignis’ thumb tracing across his stomach makes him tense and shiver with anticipation. “They’ll be hours.” Prompto lifts his arms as Ignis pulls up his shirt, and feels the kiss of warm sunshine on his chest before lips return.

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Prompto laughs. Knowing Noctis, he probably will actually fish for a while before Gladio gets exasperated and tackles him. Prompto feels Ignis’ teeth nip lightly at his ear and he falls back himself, a strong arm at his back so he falls in slow motion.

Ignis’ form blocks the sun from blinding him, and the grass waves around them as firm, smooth lips descend on his. Prompto surges up to meet them eagerly, the tingle when they meet turning lazy affection into a more urgent need. Tongues tangle, and Prompto gently removes Ignis’ glasses so he can cup the side of his face and run his fingers down the bridge of Ignis’ nose, the curve of his chin, along his lips. Prompto bites his lip when Ignis’ tongue darts out to flick at his fingertips.

Hands roam over his chest again, and Prompto is already growing hard, grinding up into Ignis almost without realizing and drawing a smile from the gorgeous face above him. Ignis presses back down in response with a naughtier grin, and Prompto gasps again. As always, Ignis has calculated the situation perfectly. It’s been longer than Prompto realized, and need flashes strong and sudden.  

Prompto reaches up to wrestle with suspenders, with shirt buttons, but Ignis won’t help. Does the opposite, in fact, leaning in close to press his mouth against all the places that make Prompto shudder and sigh and stop unbuttoning to splay his fingers out over the shoulders above him.

The smallest of pleading looks is all it takes, and Ignis is shucking off the fabric and diving back in. Graceful even in this scuffle in the grass, he unbuttons and unzips Prompto, sliding a hand inside and making Prompto huff a sharp breath into Ignis’ mouth. He says it out loud then - “Ignis,  _please_ ” - and Ignis is only too happy to oblige.

He started this, after all, and Prompto thrills to feel the strong sense of want in his lover’s motions. He peels his own gloves off -  _will that ever stop being impossibly sexy?_  Prompto wonders, knowing the answer is  _no_.

Smooth hands caress Prompto’s skin then, hands he’d call delicate except for the steely tendon and sinew beneath. Prompto is sweaty, but those perfect hands open his pants all the way and pull them past his hips smoothly, like it’s nothing, effortless, and Prompto moans Ignis’ name at least once when those hands touch his cock again. Maybe, probably more than once. He hears himself repeat it and his hands reach up to paw at Ignis’ hips - more wordless asking, and can he really be expected to manage a button and a zipper right now, as those hands caress and squeeze him and that mouth travels over his skin and it feels  _this good_? He’s helpless, and resorts to squeezing Ignis through coarse denim.

Ignis throbs in response, and pauses to look at Prompto for a moment. “You’re so beautiful,” Ignis whispers in a haze, and Prompto finally gathers himself enough to solve the infernal puzzle that is Ignis’ pants, pushing them down with petulant insistence. Ignis lets out a sigh as warm summer air touches his bare cock, only to pull air back in as Prompto caresses it with eager fingers, guides it down to his own.  

Ignis reaches down to dig in his pants pocket for a moment, and Prompto barely notices, until he feels slick fingers slide around him. Ignis is literally always prepared for everything, and Prompto can hardly complain. The warm, firm press of Ignis’ cock against his own steals his breath. Ignis strokes them, slowly and then faster, and Prompto throws his head to the side as he feels pressure build.

His hips jerk out of rhythm for a moment and it’s messy; he’s making little desperate noises that would embarrass him except that this is  _Ignis_ , and he never makes Prompto feel stupid or embarrassed, just sexy and wanted, and alive. Prompto lets out another cry as a tongue flicks at his nipple, and he’s lost any thoughts more complex than  _yes_ and  _good_. Long fingers wrap around them again, and Prompto squeezes a shaking hand on top. He feels his hair scrape into the dirt as his back arches up, and pleasure ripples upward and out.

Prompto’s chest heaves, and he thrashes and squirms. He wants to come, wants to chase it, but he also wants to linger here in ecstatic wonder. Ignis’ hand tightens under his own, and he feels hips thrust above him. That pulls up a whole assortment of other images, sensations, memories -  Ignis above him, but buried inside, in the half-light of a darkened hotel room, neck straining just like it is now, hair falling in his eyes - and  _fuck_ , the sweaty memory swirls with the current sensation of Ignis’ thumb stroking wetly over his slit, and Prompto is gone, tensing, clenching into his pleasure.  

He comes with a stuttered cry, followed by a small laugh as a bird seems to answer in the distance. Ignis’ hair brushes his chin as he curls over Prompto: two strained gusts, one through teeth and one through beautifully slackened lips. Prompto touches those lips with his fingertips again and Ignis trembles, then presses his mouth to Prompto’s, kissing him deep and slow and loving. All the love he’s never quite felt he deserved, blinding Prompto with its brilliancy. He closes his eyes, exhales, strokes the back of the head nestled on his chest. He’s learning, slowly, how to bask in the sun without asking why it would choose to shine on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @tehrevving for the prompt Promnis, Sunshine.


	9. rivers only flow one way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn, G, hints of Gilgardyn.

The tall one, the one who’s still a scared little boy when the light hits him right. The one who calls himself a Commander, as if it matters. As if it will save him from being used like the pawn of a pawn that he is. If it hadn’t been for the Oracle’s blood singing to him, Ardyn probably wouldn’t even have noticed him at all.

Anyway, he’d been crying. With his sister. Ardyn knew it was probably his role to scorn this, to shame the man into a position of weakness. Yes, tactically he should probably press this advantage. He files that away for later. Ravus hadn’t realized Ardyn had seen him, so Ardyn can surprise him with it whenever he pleases.

But Ardyn takes a sudden fascination with these tears. When’s the last time Ardyn cried, himself? Does he even remember? It’s been so many years, so very many. He crumples up his face in an odd approximation of sadness, to try to bring up the memory, shrugs. It’s gone, lost like so many other things, to the inexorable flow of time that rushes around him.

He remembers the tears of others, though. He remembers that people cried with happiness as he healed them, their loved ones. Their sounds of joy had mingled with the wails of the daemons that only Ardyn could hear as they rushed in and took residence in the very center of his existence. Ardyn remembers that his own brother cried for him, a fact he now finds curious. He remembers that he’d seen Gil’s tears often, for reasons ranging from elation to desperation and back again. Such a romantic soul, he muses.

Then. When Gilgamesh had turned his back, finally, and walked away. That might be it - that might have been the last time Ardyn’s body had driven real, clear tears out of the corners of his eyes, contorted his face, pulled his breath into odd staccato shapes. Driven him to his knees, he remembered, and that’s when the detachment he generally associates with the past falls away.

The memory is sharp and intense; it sits him down, with the sheer force of it. Fitting, that such a strong emotion should still be tied to the most powerful warrior he’d ever known. He leans on the pain like it’s a sharp blade, driving it straight through himself and back out the other side. It steals his breath. He feels the point at which a bout of crying might be welcome, might snap the searing bend he feels in his chest.

But no tears, no sobs. Ardyn supposes that is behind him, now, this ability. So human, so enviable, really, despite the fact that many of them find it shameful. Pity. He twists the memory inside him, sharply, just because he still can, because someday he’ll probably forget how to feel this, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @markofthemoros on Tumblr, to whom I am grateful for helping me dip a toe into writing Ardyn. I hope I did him justice.


	10. Read to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladnis, G. Fluff. Written after using a nifty prompt generator on Tumblr. I wanted to put a different spin on WOR Gladio and Ignis having reading time together.

Gladio stepped through the doorway to be greeted by the crackle and warmth of a fire in the fireplace.  He breathed in deep, enjoying the scent of it.  It was reminiscent of campfire, and he was pleased, though slightly worried.

Ignis rose from the armchair near the fire and strode directly toward the sound of his voice and footfalls, fingers just skimming the furniture here and there. Ignis was clearly feeling more himself today and showing off a bit, and Gladio’s heart swelled so much it was almost painful. It had hurt to watch Ignis be robbed of so many things that had made him self-assured and confident; watching him fight to regain each one made Gladio burn with pride and respect for the man. But still - setting a fire by himself?

“Iggy, did you -?” He was cut off by a light kiss feathering across his lips.

“No, Prompto came by just about an hour ago. I have been busy, though. Do you want me to read to you?”

It took Gladio a moment to process.  The words were so familiar, plucked from the days when Ignis had still had his sight. When Gladio would come home to food in the kitchen and a fire in the fireplace. They’d curl up on the couch and Ignis would read to him, usually playing with his hair, until he dozed off or became…. distracted.  He wasn’t ashamed to admit that hearing the phrase today made tears spring to his eyes, and he squeezed Ignis’ hand.

“I would love that,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. He slipped off his shoes and leaned himself back into Ignis’ chest on the couch.  As Ignis’ fingers skimmed the page and he read - no longer halting or hesitant, but fluent and confident - nostalgia and fierce pride twisted together in Gladio’s chest.  He squeezed Ignis’ thigh lovingly, and Ignis paused to drop a kiss on his forehead. Gladio closed his eyes and lost himself in the story. The heat of the fire and the snap of the flames hovered in the background of the warmth of his beloved’s body and the smooth tones of his voice.

As Gladio drifted, Ignis felt his head droop and heard his breathing grow even. His lips curved in a smile, and he continued to read until he heard the fire begin to burn low.


	11. If this is heaven, I don't know what it's for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musician AU, Promnea, T. No warnings apply.

”Hey, why didn’t you ask me to come with you guys tonight?” Aranea lounged on the bed on her stomach, feet in the air. She’d stayed over since yesterday - she did that sometimes. Never more than a couple of nights in a row, but it was way too easy to get comfortable here. The window was open, and the sounds of the city drifted in along with the air, finally cooling from the heat of the day. The fifth-floor walk-up was tiny and basic, a little studio that was almost entirely filled by a double bed and the drum kit to the side. **  
**

“You don’t like Arcade Fire.” Prompto pulled on his cuffs so his jacket would sit straight on his shoulders, eyeing Aranea appreciatively as she relaxed on his bed. She liked staying over, though, it was homey. She liked the photos on the shelf, the loud red-and-gold printed curtain that hung in front of Prompto’s clothes, the adorably dilapidated cactus that he’d told her he’d had since he was fourteen.

“Oh, is that who’s playing? I like that one song - what is it, Reflection?” She crossed one bare leg over the other. Her own space tended to be sleeker, more sterile - easier to avoid being messy when you had less shit, she told herself, but the welcome of Prompto’s happily jumbled surroundings was undeniable.

“Reflektor.” Prompto grinned and straightened his tie. “And aren’t you playing a show tomorrow? Assumed you were turning in early.”

Aranea nodded, chewing a fingernail. “Why are you wearing a suit, anyway? That’s not very punk rock.”  She twitched the corner of her mouth at him.

His gaze met hers in the mirror. “A, not a punk show. B, the band asked people to dress up in suits and dresses and stuff. It’s fun.”

“It’s ridiculous.” Aranea rolled her eyes. “Though, you do look really good in that.” The midnight blue fabric hugged the lines of his body, and Aranea craned her neck to look him up and down without moving from the spot where she lounged.

The slim, tailored lines of the suit set off the rows of piercings lining his earlobes, the various rings he wore when he wasn’t drumming, and the detailed scrolled tattoos climbing out of his collar like vines.

It was a good look, Aranea mused to herself, and her gaze grew more focused.

An eyebrow cocked suggestively at her in the mirror. “You’re a fan of this, huh?” Prompto’s lips curved in a crooked smirk, and he turned his head and made direct eye contact with her.

It was either the heat of that violet-blue gaze, or the knowing tilt of his lips, or maybe both. Aranea crept up and off the bed and pounced.

She grabbed him by the tie, stepping back noiselessly on bare feet, smooth against the wood floor. “How much time you got?” The words slipped out between their lips, which were already connected as she dragged him with her. His eyes closed as he kissed her back, and they tumbled back together onto the bed.

Prompto planted a hand beside Aranea’s head, looking down at her fondly. “Enough.” His index finger hooked around the knot at his neck, and she bit her lip as he tugged it loose.

“I don’t wanna mess up your eyeliner.” Her eyes were wide and wanting, and the two of them were close enough for her to pick out individual freckles and breathe in the smell of him - citrusy soap and clean skin. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, and she stretched her arms behind his neck and curled her legs around his hips.

“Yeah, you do.” Prompto laughed and he combed his fingers though free, silvery hair and bent down to capture her lips again. His tongue swept into her mouth and she let out a low growl as the streetlights started to turn on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @butterflygirl-86 on Tumblr for the prompt Promnea and "reflection." (This ended up being a dip into some events taking place before an AU that I'm working on!)


	12. still do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Gladio always share a moment when they attend a wedding.
> 
> Gladnis, G, no warnings.

It happened every time. Ignis’ light lean into Gladio’s shoulder as they stood together next to a beatific Iris, Gladio trying furiously not to cry with happiness, maybe failing a little.

The slight smile and lift to his chin, knowing Gladio was looking over at him, when Noct and Prom finally got their shit together and threw the party they deserved after all these years. Uncanny, Ignis’ ability to find Gladio’s gaze without seeing him.

Today, this wedding involved the child of a minor noble, and they were attending so Noctis didn’t have to. They still did that sometimes. The vows began, and as the young couple promised themselves to one another, Gladio felt graceful fingers take his hand and smooth fingertips over his ring. No words; none necessary.

“I still do, you know.” Ignis’ voice floated up to Gladio as they danced later, and he didn’t have to ask what Ignis meant.

“I know.” The familiarity with which their bodies fit together and their steps turned across the floor made Gladio’s throat swell and his voice rough. Ignis remained impeccable in his suit, lines dearer for being weathered by years and trials, endured together.

Gladio could dance with him all night, and it would never be enough. “I do, too.” The words brought that captivating smile that crinkled the corners of Ignis’ eyes, the one that Gladio loved best, and he leaned in close.  _Until the last step, until the last note of music fades away in this life we get to dance through together, I’ll rejoice in getting to love you, darling_ , he thought.

“You know I do,” was all Gladio said, but he knew Ignis heard it all.

 


	13. holding on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptio, G, no warnings

“Titan’s balls, man, this was supposed to be a workout. Chill the fuck out.” Gladio let out an exasperated sigh and let his practice sword swing down loosely as he took a break to get some water.

Prompto glared at him, fists clenched, and waited until Gladio set the water down. Then he scrambled back, diving and kicking like it was a scrappy street fight instead of a sparring match to keep them in shape.

“It’s not gonna bring him back faster, you know,” Gladio murmured as he caught the edge of Prompto’s blade on his blunted greatsword and dragged it down slowly, so Prompto’s arm was caught at his side.

Prompto stilled and turned his head aside. “Sometimes it feels like it will.” Gladio caught glints of violet from the corners of those eyes, and his heart broke a little at the expression there. Prompto stepped closer, keeping his blade lowered.

“I can’t make up for it now, but I wish I could.”

Gladio nodded. “You fight like you could.” He took a deep breath. “I know, okay?”  Prompto just looked at him. “I’m the goddamn Shield.” He set his hand on a pale, sweaty shoulder, letting Prompto feel the weight of it. He wanted Prompto to notice that he hadn’t used past tense - that he really believed he was still the Shield of the King, that Noct was out there, somewhere, and that they would see him again. He needed to know that Prompto believed that too.

A watery nod, and then an awkward one-armed hug, practice blades still in hand. A blond head lingered on Gladio’s shoulder.

“I just feel so  _guilty_.”

 _Guilty ain’t the half of it_ , Gladio pondered, especially when all he could think about was kissing tears from freckled cheeks. He just smoothed his hand over Prompto’s back and buried his nose in bright tufts.

“We just do what we can, okay?” His voice rumbled a little deeper than usual. “We’ll both kick his ass when he comes back, for making us wait for him.” Prompto nestled, and let out a weak laugh.

“Six months is a long time. Can’t be too much longer now.” Prompto’s voice was muffled in Gladio’s shirt.

“Yeah.” Gladio let his sword clatter down and put both arms around Prompto, squeezing as tightly as he dared. “I’m sure you’re right.”


	14. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis, G. Canon-compliant injury.

“Fuck!”

The profanity burst out of him, almost without intent but not quite, as his toe smashed into the heavy wooden post at the foot of the bed. Five godsdamned minutes after rising, and Ignis couldn’t handle the simple task of walking around his own fucking bedroom.

The early hour and the lack of caffeine in his system did not help him withstand the sheer repetitive aggravation of making the same mistakes over and over that was scratching under his skin. Ignis felt himself, almost physically, take the calm, collected veneer he usually kept about himself and throw it directly at the wall to hear it break. 

He shoved and kicked at the bed frame again, hard, purposefully, as though to punish it for its transgression. He grabbed at the bedsheets and ripped them off, flinging them behind him and around the room, pillows and blankets too, anything his furious hands could pull and yank.

Anger formed a tight ball in his chest, and he heard footsteps approach, substantial and soft at the same time. Embarrassment made him snap, and he whirled around. “What?”

“Hey.” That was it. No questioning, no comments about the state of the room. Just a quiet, low assurance that he wasn’t alone. 

Except that what he most wanted right now was to be left alone. “‘Hey,’  _what?_ ” The words seethed around his clenched jaw. Ignis hated being found in such a raw, exposed state. 

And here came the more hesitant, lighter tread. Apparently today was the morning for everyone to look at him and his ridiculous inability to keep his emotions under control.

He couldn’t even admit that a simple stubbed toe had been the cause of all this. Because it hadn’t, really. It was the sum of a thousand little indignities that had started that first day he awoke and couldn’t see, from relearning how not to piss all over the floor as though he were five, to buttoning a simple fucking shirt properly, to - whatever absolute tedium decided to become a major obstacle on any given day. He was tired of this, and wanted nothing more than to shrug it off. But it trapped him, and it was suffocating.

“You okay?” The low voice was tentative, but gentle. It hurt more, somehow, this way. Why couldn’t they just be angry with him? He was being an immature shit. But no, everyone was so calm and quiet around him now. Mustn’t upset the invalid.

“Yes, everything’s fantastic, Gladio. The sun has disappeared, I’m fucking useless, and Noctis is -” Ignis’ voice cut off as he fumbled his way furiously from the room, managing to at least slam the door as he went. It was satisfying, but didn’t calm the burning in his chest. Hot, angry tears streamed down one side of his face, and Ignis fumed that he couldn’t even  _cry_ like a normal person anymore. He heard Prompto behind him, and Ignis ducked out of reach - or what he hoped was out of reach.

“Hey, Iggy. It’s gonna be okay.”

For some reason, the simple platitude angered Ignis more than anything thus far this morning. “It’s bloody not, and please don’t say anything so asinine in my presence again. Nothing,” Ignis flung an arm desperately, wincing as his fingernails accidentally struck the nearby door frame, “nothing is ‘okay’ right now. Nor will it be. Don’t be an  _idiot_ , Prompto.”

There were Gladio’s footsteps again, and Ignis felt the silent judgment from both of them.

“Look, I’d go out and get some air, but it seems that even leaving the house is something that involves pre-planning and godsdamned…  _equipment_ for me, so if you two could find something to do outside the apartment, that would be perfect.” Ignis was nearly shouting, and he knew they hadn’t meant to make him feel like this. But he did, and the firm walls he’d held up to keep the bitterness and rage away from his friends had taken heavy damage. “Preferably for several hours.”

Ignis heard Prompto make a little indecisive noise, but Gladio just said, “Yeah okay,” in a low, gruff voice that revealed nothing. Small sounds of jackets rustling and boots jangling, and they were gone, the door clicking softly closed behind them. 

Ignis moved toward the kitchen, running his fingers absently over the scarred skin of his left hand. He knew, in some part of his mind, that there had been days he hadn’t felt like this. Days when inevitability and hopelessness seemed like things that could be overcome. But not today. Today he gripped the side of the counter, another sob scraping out of his chest without granting any relief.

Hair tickled his forehead in another silent taunt about what he had once been and was now. Vanity it might be, but Ignis deeply regretted being unable to style his own hair in the morning. Another basic level of dignity he was denied. 

 _And for what?_  Ignis stalked around the kitchen, trying to find a simple breakfast and avoiding thinking too hard in the direction of the stove.

 _For nothing_. He’d failed, Noctis was gone, and he’d irreparably injured himself, throwing an even larger burden on everyone’s back. It was his own idiot pride that was at the root of all this, and today that thought was untenable. No enemy to despise, no evil monster on which to wish revenge. Just his own stupid, rash choices and inability to fulfill basic duty.

Toast. The most basic meal. The bread and the butter dish should be on the counter, and even he should be able to handle the toaster. Ignis felt for the bread, found it, and sighed. It was the good bread, the one Gladio had been excited to find at the market and bring home. It was something Ignis had enjoyed before everything went to shit. 

And it was something that required a knife to slice. And the ability to see; to avoid cutting one’s own fingers off. Ignis flung the bread back onto the counter, spun around, and flopped against the counter, hands over his face.

 After a few minutes, Ignis remembered the grapes in the fruit bowl and picked them up. He did rinse them; all the fruit from the market these days tended to have an odd dust clinging to its surface, and it was unpleasant. Ignis sat on the floor, leaned against the lower cupboards, and attempted to calm himself, eating the still-wet grapes one by one.

From the counter, his phone rang, and he ignored the sound until it stopped. It started again almost immediately, and he slammed his head back against the cabinet door in irritation. It had to be one of those two, and after less than fifteen minutes? 

He stood up, tossing the grapes after the bread onto the counter, and picked up the phone, angling it toward his mouth. “Answer.”

The phone continued ringing merrily. Ignis clenched his fists and tried again, and the call finally picked up. It was Prompto. 

“Uh, hi, Iggy. Look, I know you wanted some quiet time today and I get it, I really do, it’s just that we ran into kind of a situation here and, uh - “

“Prompto,” Ignis cut him off with the verbal equivalent of holding his hand up, “please. Please put Gladio on. I cannot deal with your babbling this morning.”

It was quiet for a moment, until a deeper voice took over. “Iggy - Shiva, maybe be less of a dick to Prompto? - Anyway, got some hunters here. Bad shape. Gonna need to bring them back to the apartment and take care of ‘em. Could use your help if you’re up to it.“

“Yes, well, ever forward,” Ignis said around the guilt that was threatening to choke him. 

Gladio’s voice softened again. “You’re still not okay, are you?”

“No.”

Denied the satisfaction of a quick hangup, because he couldn’t find the button on the screen, Ignis laid the phone on the counter and walked away, not waiting to hear the sound of Gladio disconnecting.


	15. Hairpin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and Aranea chat at the track. F1 AU, no warnings apply, G.

Friday. Practice day. Aranea sat by herself on the bleachers next to the track, still sweaty in her jumpsuit, studying a map of the track. Turn 8 was sharp, and while 9 was more gradual, the quick about-face into 10’s hairpin _while_ changing gears uphill was giving her trouble, and she pondered strategies for it, alternately scribbling on her map with a pencil and gazing out onto the track.

Her hair was a wreck, and she busily scraped it into a wet, messy, ponytail, only to turn her head as she heard footsteps thumping along behind her.

“You thinking about that 8-9-10 progression? It’s a killer.” Aranea grinned at the brightly colored sneaker that plunked onto the seat next to her, and looked up at Prompto, squinting in the sunlight. His skin was pale, like hers, and still carried the pink flush of exertion. She figured she probably looked like a human tomato right about now. The steamy heat out here did nothing to help.

She knew he felt like an outsider, too, and it was nice to have some support. Even just nice to hear another American accent around, she smiled to herself.  Though as always, she tried to keep things close to the vest and avoid exposing too much.

“Maybe. Unlike you, I did all my minor league racing in the States, so this track is all new to me. Hard to keep up.”

He sat down uninvited, and traced his stubby-nailed finger over the hairpin. “You know where your line is, right?”

She nodded. “In here, out here.” Her finger followed his own.

“You gotta cut speed a lot - you know that - but then find that sweet spot to open it back up again.”

“Yeah, that’s where I keep getting hung up. I’m too conservative every time, and that’s not like me.”

He looked at her appreciatively. “Oh, I know.”

Aranea rolled her eyes, assuming it was a pickup line, and Prompto backpedaled, hands up in insistence.

“No! Not like that! I watched you in Indycar - you’re fearless.”

Her gaze slid to the side and she tilted her head. “You did, huh?”

“Yeah, and I’ve seen you fuckin’ overtake people you got no business passing. That Texas race last year was nuts.” He shook his head in disbelief, sweat droplets flying.

Prompto slung an elbow across his knee, trying to look casual, but Aranea saw the true admiration in his eyes, and the combination melted her a little.

“Wanna grab some dinner and talk about it?” Aranea grinned. “Sounds like you have a decent handle on this track.”

“What? Yeah - that - that’d be great!”

“Good. I’ve never been to Hammerhead before, so I’m counting on you to find a good place. Meet me back here in an hour?”

“You got it.” He dipped his head and freckled cheeks broke into a smile before he jogged away, full of barely restrained energy.


	16. Fumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World of Ruin Prompto/Ignis. G rated, warning for description of panic attacks.

It was his own harsh intake of breath that woke him. With the way it had pulled at the inside of his chest, Ignis expected the sound to be louder when he woke up in the quiet room. His heart thudded painfully, and a slick, unpleasant layer of sweat coated his skin. He sat up, eager to change his posture and rid himself of the feeling of unbearable pressure that always accompanied these dreams.

He listened carefully, and the sound of Prompto’s even breathing next to him assured him that he was the only one awake. Part of him wanted very much to reach over and pull Prompto’s arms around him, but he was sleeping very deeply, and Ignis had the strong feeling that whatever was wrong with _him_ oughtn’t deprive others of their much-needed sleep. And he was so, so tired of being a burden to everyone.

He quivered, sick, and was overcome with the desire to leave the bed. He padded down the hallway and down the stairs to the living room. Getting up and moving through the house did nothing to reassure his body that it wasn't being attacked.

The symptoms were familiar - he knew the dump of adrenaline and the hyper awareness from battle, but this process was frustrating and out of place here, in his own home, in the middle of the night. He told himself this was simply a chemical reaction, and that it would pass. His body, ignoring any rationality, continued to speed up. He had the irrational yet distinct fear that this would never end, and he'd be trapped inside a feeling of spiraling panic forever.

He sat on the living room floor, with his knees up and his wrists dangling across them. He felt helpless as his body continued to agitate internally. He missed being able to write in his notebook, just scribbling down anything to distract his mind until he could calm down.  He missed being able to turn on a damn light. A quiet sob escaped, muffling the sounds of soft footsteps on the stairs. He heard Prompto approach, though, and felt the floorboards move underneath him.

There was a hand on his forearm. “Hey.  _Hey_ , I've told you to wake me up when this happens. It's okay. You're okay.”

“It's fine. You were so peaceful, and I know you don't always get enough sleep -” Ignis wiped miserably at his eyes.

“Please, let me help you. A couple minutes of sleep is not a big deal when you feel like this.” Prompto’s hand smoothed over his arm. It felt distant. “Come back to bed?”

Ignis nodded, still somewhat paralyzed but grateful for Prompto’s presence. “I'm - sorry.” The second word twisted out of his chest in another sob.

“Nope. Not gonna let you apologize for this. Not your fault, even a little bit.” Prompto kissed his forehead and pulled him gently to his feet. He threw an arm around Ignis’ waist and nuzzled his head in close as they moved slowly back up the stairs.  

Prompto curled himself around Ignis’ back. Ignis hugged their twined fingers to his chest. His body had not stopped running its infuriating process. He still felt horrible, soaked in adrenaline and guilt and worthlessness.  But he was able to slow his breathing and believe that sleep might be within reach, and that was something.

* * *

 

The kitchen grew quiet; too quiet, and Ignis reached for the dishes, then held them for a moment, listening. The snotty sniffle confirmed it, and he laid the plates on the counter before crossing the floor toward the sound in two strides. Bending a cheek to rest in messy strands, he simply said, “Love, I know,” and felt Prompto’s chest lurch once, twice, against his hand.

“It’s fine - I’m just - I forgot how much I liked hearing someone bitch about vegetables. Never thought I’d miss complaining so much.”

“Good to see you making light of it, but -”

“Someone has to.” Prompto’s tone was bitter. “Someone always has to.”

Ignis turned Prompto and put two fingers under his chin then, as though he could still look deep into his eyes. “Not with me, you don't.”

Guilt, and fear, and weariness and frustration left Prompto’s chest in a loud gust of air, and Ignis felt a head thump into his waiting embrace.


	17. Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis/Nyx, rated T, no warnings apply. Set in the same F1 AU as Hairpin.

Ignis pulled the car up with an undignified screech and leapt out, detaching his helmet in one swift motion and storming over to his teammate.

“What in the hell was that? Team orders, Ulric! I know your radio is working because I heard your incessant shit talk, so what is the possible explanation for this?” Ignis stared down into the car in confusion and rage. This newcomer - fresh from Force Galahd, the upstart backmarker team of all places - was supposed to support him, be a solid blocker, help Ignis and the Ebony team make a serious run at threatening perennial favorites Touellia and Fenestala for the season championship.

Not beat him in qualifying.

Nyx looked up through his helmet for a long moment, then took it off and raked a hand through his hair. Sweat droplets caught the glint of the rapidly setting sun.

“Team orders are bullshit. And, that was just qualifying. If you want that podium, you’re gonna have to beat me fair and square, Scientia.” Finally, he stepped out of the car and stood up, a little too close to Ignis for comfort. Ignis was still fuming, hands balled into fists, mentally calculating points and placement and he almost didn’t notice how close Nyx’s scruffy cheek was to his own, dark swinging braids nearly touching him.

“I’m not gonna pull over for you just because you have a certain number of points.” Challenge seeped from his words as breath tickled Ignis’ cheek.  He looked straight into Nyx’s clear blue eyes, snapping with anger of their own. “You’ll have to come and take it from me.”

Ignis refused to back up, and set his mouth into a firm line. “Consider it done.” His chin jutted out. This Gralea track was  _his_ \- he knew it like the back of his hand, had done since his minor league E2 days. Determination flared and burned to a low simmer. Today had simply been an outlier, that was all. Ignis was ready - ready to be done being a second driver, ready to stop supporting everyone else, ready for his own shot, in his own right.

No matter how infuriatingly casual and irreverent and - well, apparently talented - his new teammate was, Ignis was not about to be distracted.

Nyx cracked a maddeningly dimpled smile. “Lookin’ forward to it.” He nodded, pulled a pair of sunglasses from somewhere, slid them on, and strolled off down the track.

“Good luck tomorrow.” Nyx waved a hand without looking back, and Ignis noticed, to his annoyance, how well that jumpsuit clung to muscled thighs. He stalked back into the garage to watch the footage back and refine strategies for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Ignyx Week 2018, Day 1, prompt Ebony.


	18. they were young once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble imagining Aranea Highwind's parents at Lucis Military Academy.

Naven walked down the hall with a group, letting one of his friends jostle him good-naturedly and pretending to follow the conversation about the blitzball team.

Hurried steps sounded behind them, and a furious voice rang out.

“You! You did this!”

He recognized the voice without turning around, and a crooked grin spread across his face. Of course he had. He wasn’t going to let her win, was he? He let his steps slow to a stop.

A strong hand gripped his shoulder and turned him around, and a small laugh escaped him when he saw the set of her jaw and the quirk to her mouth. Yes, she was angry, but there was something else there, too….

His eyebrows shot up when she balled her fist in his sweater and yanked his face down to hers. He opened his mouth to explain -

And found her lips firmly planted on his. She looked as surprised as he felt - perfect eyebrows arched high above those icy blue eyes. Naven’s bewilderment twined with the rush of being this close to her and feeling the smooth softness of her lips.

She kissed him, passionate, demanding, and still furious, then let go of his shirt and stomped off.

“Your move, Laney,” he called after her. Naven shook his head and chuckled, watching her storm away.


	19. Meet Me On the Eastside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx meets Crowe and her daughter after a basketball game. Modern AU.  
> G rating, Tredd/Crowe and hints of Crownyx, no warnings.

Nyx sat on the bench and caught his breath, grinning with amusement at himself. Several of the younger guys had shown up today for their usual pickup game, and they’d run Nyx’s ass off. Still, he supposed he could use the workout. He took a long drink from his water bottle and pulled his sweaty t-shirt away from his chest. Leaning back on his elbows, he took a look down his front - vainly, even he would admit. It took more days getting his ass kicked like this than it used to, and fewer beers, but he’d managed to stave off the middle-aged gut. Idly, his gaze drifted around the park before landing at random on a couple - a man and a woman across from him.

They were seated on another bench, talking. They looked reasonably comfortable with one another, but it wasn’t necessarily a happy conversation. Nyx heard snatches of it, but the warm, thick breeze blew parts of it away.

“Your kid doesn’t like me -” The partial sentence was all he heard, but the body language of the compact redhead with his arm flung across the back of the bench said more. He was self-consciously trying to take up space, trying to assert himself, and looked at his phone with the other hand to affect some nonchalance.

The pretty brunette seated next to him shook her head and said something that was obviously a denial. Her hair tangled in swirling brown waves as the wind blew, and the practiced hand that swooped it into a twist looked strong, several rings glinting in the late-afternoon sun. She tilted her head at him and let out a sigh that was visible.

He seemed younger than her, but Nyx knew that sometimes that was attitude. He smirked at himself for being such an eavesdropper, but people watching was pretty much the most active thing he wanted to be doing right now, as he let his heartbeat slow down so it wasn’t pounding in his ears anymore. 

A ball bounced against his foot - it was pink, and that thin plastic of a child’s toy. Nyx flipped it up without thinking and looked around for its owner. A tiny dark-haired girl gave him a shy smile that turned into a bigger grin as Nyx flipped the ball onto the back of his hand and back again, then bounced it a couple of times off his knee and the toe of his sneaker. 

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Catch?” A gentle bounce, and she hugged it to her chest with a giggle. Nyx leaned back again and closed his eyes, expecting her to dash off, and was surprised by the small voice that broke into his thoughts.

“Catch!” The flimsy pink ball was flung at his foot, and the kid bounced with anticipation. Nyx would have had to be made of stone to resist. He gave her a sideways grin, and they started a tentative game of catch-and-bounce - a game that fortunately allowed Nyx to sit his exhausted ass there on the park bench, but no less entertaining for it. 

She was cute, and Nyx found himself chuckling at her small antics, until the brunette woman from the bench across the way saw them and hurried over.

Yeah. He got it. It made sense, even if it stung. A middle-aged guy, alone, at a park - not a good candidate for her kid’s playmate. No way for her to know Nyx had a little one at home of his own, probably watching cartoons with her aunt. Too weird and defensive to launch into some kind of speech about it. He flicked his gaze up to the woman, almost apologetically, even though he had nothing to apologize for. He waited for her to hustle her daughter off, but she didn’t.

“Have I seen you here before?” 

Nyx looked back up at her again, and his heart thudded again like he was running full speed. She was beautiful. He thought to himself that the word hardly expressed it - that “beautiful” was stupidly insufficient, as he tried and failed not to stare into deep brown eyes, as her hastily pinned-up bun came unraveled in the wind and spilled over her shoulders, as a strand curled itself over a tanned cheekbone. He collected himself the best he could.

“Maybe. Pickup game every Sunday.” 

Her eyes lingered on his, too. She nodded, looked once over her shoulder quickly, and took her daughter’s hand. She smiled at him briefly, but it was wary, and sad, in a way that had nothing to do with protectiveness over her child. He wanted to say that he’d see her around, but for what? Not that it wouldn’t be fun to piss off the squared-off ginger swaggering over to her impatiently, but …

She gave him another quick nod, and those eyes lingered on him again. He nodded back and met them until her gaze flicked away. As she walked away, the girl's tiny hand in her own, she listened as the child chattered happily. The sun glinted in Nyx's eyes as he watched them cross the asphalt and swish through the grass. 

One last look back got him right in the chest. A grin burst forth, and he started actually wondering if he'd see them again next weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the benny blanco/Halsey/Khalid song of the same name.


End file.
